


Tomorrow

by missbeizy



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M, RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-03-01 09:45:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2768624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missbeizy/pseuds/missbeizy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But sometimes, she can't help.  And ever since New Zealand, she's known exactly what he needs to fill that gap.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tomorrow

He senses the stiff set of mouths and the eyes slightly averted all around him at the after-party. And Christine's fingers dig softly into his arm, stroking and pulling him in the direction of people who are apt to be less judgmental. But her silent comfort isn't helping and Sean feels the weight of it almost as much as he feels the eyes on his back as he moves through the crowd.

"Stop," she whispers against his ear, and he tilts his head to look into her eyes.

"Stop what?"

"Giving a shit." And she grins.

He sighs. "Yeah. Yeah."

"Why don't you go find Billy?" She stops them in front of the bar and procures two glasses of champagne, smoothly slipping one into his sweaty palm. Pets his arm again.

"Yeah."

And she gets it, because she knows he's upset when his sentences shrink to contain only one-syllable words.

And he loves that she gets it. But sometimes, she can't help. And ever since New Zealand, she's known exactly what he needs to fill that gap. So she smiles, and bites her lip, and takes a bracing sip of her drink, and does not allow the physical shifting of his body away from hers bother her. Because she gets it.

*

They get it, too. But it's subsumed with them, and so he can pretend it's not there at all. He can trade in his champagne for a Guinness and shrug off his jacket and not worry about making eye contact or sitting the right way. Andy's like a pleasant, grumbling shadow at this point, but Billy...well. Billy has always calmed Sean in the way only a very close but very direct friend can. Direct because they're the oldest, because they're the most settled, and because Billy can be completely honest without being rude.

So when Sean finally finds Billy, catches Billy's eye, and gets Billy to break away from his group to join him in an isolated corner, he can already hear Billy's voice in his ear.

"Beer?" Billy holds out a bottle, and when Sean grabs the neck, their fingers brush.

"Thanks." Long gulp. Head against the wall. "Man."

"Mmhm." Billy mimics Sean's posture.

"I like your kilt."

Billy snorts and then chuckles. "Compliment accepted. However..."

"I know."

"Yes. Your speeches, ah, as Elijah would say...suck."

Sean smiles. Because Elijah would say that. But also because it's true. "I thought. Yeah. I thought it would. Alright, I have no idea. I thought I did. Seemed like a good message."

"No one's all that flustered." Billy tips his bottle, swallows, and then exhales. "In case you haven't noticed, people are more concerned with the stock of the bar at the moment." Shrugs. "You take enough flap for being the safety hobbit as it is, Sean. Relax, yeah?"

"Yeah." It's not that simple and people aren't as casual as that, but Billy has _something_ of a point. "I guess I just feel the need to make something out of every moment I have in front of..."

Billy turns to look at him when he doesn't continue.

"Forget it," Sean exhales. "You're right."

"Or at least, I should be." And Billy smiles.

That feeling, Sean thinks to himself, of _at home_ that always comes when the hobbits are together; it's inescapable. Next to the girls and Christine's beautiful face first thing in the morning, being with the other hobbits is the most comfortable feeling in the world. There are other things he does, other places he goes, and other functions he shows his face at that all serve to frame the meaning of his life, all serve to give him that something. And that's a good feeling. But to be able to stand next to someone and be utterly reassured with so few words...

"So Dom and Elijah are nancing around New Orleans in togas, looking like the bloody poufs they are, probably gobbling down gumbo and getting access to more breasts than mortal men should be allowed to have access to," Billy waxes.

"And here I am, needing a drink," Sean finishes, and they both dissolve into soft laughter.

"Calm down. And come here." Billy shifts his drink to his left hand and extends his right arm and Sean slides along the wall and into Billy's side, letting one arm go around Billy's chest. They hug tightly, with Billy's breath coming in warm puffs against the side of Sean's neck.

"Andy's got some stuff, you wanna come smoke with us back at the rooms?" Billy's mouth hovers, brushing Sean's ear. "You could use it."

"Billy, you know I don't."

"I figured tonight might be different." Billy shrugs. "Besides, the girls are off, mm?"

Sean tilts his head and finds Christine in the crowd; Ali in front of her, fussing over her extended belly with wide smiles.

"I'll come for a bit."

Because being anywhere else sounds unbearable.

*

He might as well be smoking with them, because the clouds that fill the hotel bedroom are pervasive enough to give him a massive contact high. In fact, he thinks they have. Or will. Or have, because the fact that he can't figure it out either way is an indication that they already have. Or something. He thinks. And then he gets up.

He hides in the bathroom for a bit, scooping handfuls of cold water over his face and then sitting quietly on the toilet seat, just staring and thinking.

Barely hears the knock on the door because of the loud voices outside and before he can get up to answer, Billy steps inside.

"Oh, hey," Billy says, surprised to find the bathroom occupied. And then he grins. "Are you using that?"

"What? Oh. No." Sean gets up and moves to the other side of the room, busying himself with the patchwork of tile that covers the walls while Billy pisses. Rearranges the kilt without having to fuss with anything underneath, and Sean notices, and grins, and wishes he hadn't noticed.

"You hiding out in here?"

"Sort of. Was starting to crave chicken wings, so I figured I'd clear my head."

Billy laughs. "You don't have to stay, man. They're just gonna get arse-faced, anyway. Thought a bit of time away from the lasses would help, is all."

"Nah, nah. It has. Really."

Billy stares. _Has it? And do you get what I'm sayin', or do you just_ get what I'm sayin' _?_

Sean stares back and then proceeds to fuss with the assortment of tiny wrapped soaps behind the faucet.

"If Elijah or Dom were here, this would be a lot less complicated, don't you think?" 

"It is easier when there's three or four of us," Sean admits, voice hushed.

_No matter how many times we reach for each other, I can never be the first._ And it would make sense, except the reason isn't guilt. It's plain and simple cowardice.

"Sean," Billy chides, stepping forward and wrapping his fingers around Sean's forearm. "She let you go, didn't she? She knew you wouldn't be back until morning."

Sean's heart pounds. _Yes._

"You know how it is," Billy says, and he's smiling, and his fingers are creeping from Sean's arm to Sean's side. As if that phrase explains everything. As if there is nothing else to say. 

And then the connection, the brief rush of open mental space in which Sean lets himself recall previous times. Hotel rooms and trailers and bedrooms and bathrooms. Soft surfaces and hard surfaces. Comfortable and uncomfortable positions. Two sets of hands, three sets, one set. Doesn't matter. If it feels this way _every fucking time_ , how can it ever stop without killing one of us? 

And Billy's so subtle about it, so quiet that it... Contrasts with Dom's insanely loud flare, with Elijah's naughty edge. _We're quite alike you and I_ , and then...

Nothing more intimate than being face-to-face like this. Sean will attest to that. Having a hand on your cock isn't nearly as...

It becomes vitally important that Billy's mouth stay right where it is. Can only hear the accelerated pant of breath and feel his pulse sounding in his ears when Billy kisses him, side-to-side and softly, so softly that it isn't fair, that it makes Sean's spine buckle, though he stays rigidly still.

Fingers digging into his dress shirt, blotting the thin linen with sweat so much that it touches Billy's fingertips. And Billy is smiling, and Billy's eyes are closed. Kisses again, harder, soft smack of lips coming together unevenly, and Sean opens his mouth and their tongues bump and chase, and finally sink into Sean's mouth, lapping inside a deep kiss.

Apart. Sean's fingers clasp the scratchy wool that hangs from Billy's hips.

"Is there anywhere else..."

Too hot and not enough ventilation.

Billy tastes like pot.

Sean's thoughts lose the synapses that connect them.

"Could use Bernard's room, it's across the way and he's over here." Billy's head throbs with disconnected arousal.

"Please," Sean says.

*

The bed gives a fantastically audible creak when Sean pushes in all the way. They're both sweating so badly that the lube seems to be overkill, but that's...just fine. Sweating so much that the droplets trickle along temples and foreheads, down necks to gather in hollows, between shoulder blades that bunch with movement. Bunch the way Billy's kilt bunches, pushed around his hips, bunches the way Sean's trousers bunch in a pile at the foot of the bed.

 _Leave it on_ , he'd said.

And Billy had.

The bed creaks again, covering up Billy's harsh exhale, as Sean pulls out. Oh, _fuck_. Leaving Billy hollow. Won't say it or beg for it, but _please_ , inside again. And again. Billy's hands dig into Sean's ass, pulling greedily. The full feeling, the weight on you feeling, the stretch. Oh, God.

"Wait wait," Billy groans, minutes later, when Sean hits a faster pace. Sean slows, ducking his face against Billy's hotly damp neck, his eyelashes smearing the moisture. 

"Mm." Licks at the track of wet, finding the hollow of Billy's throat, glancing off his Adam's apple, nipping his chin, and finally arriving at his mouth. A dozen distracted kisses later, Sean's fingers dig into the backs of Billy's knees, pushing them higher. Hips falling forward, a bottomed out rocking stroke, Sean's balls touching the cleft of Billy's ass.

Billy's hands fall, numb from their positioning, and he shifts them above his head, wrapping them around the top of the headboard and feeling the damp sheets under his back peel away. And he can feel the bed shake now, when Sean begins to rock, and that's good, that's _right...there_.

Starts and stops. And when the stopping lasts longer than the starting, Billy gets ready for Sean to...

The shudder tears along his body and he thrusts hard, once, bringing Billy's back off the bed, just before dropping his head to Billy's chest. Giant exhale, hot and shaking. And again. And again. Chest heaving with it, and Billy's hand falls to the sweat-spiked short hairs at the nape of Sean's neck. Sean's hand wriggle between their bellies, finding him, pushing Billy's hand away. _Let me._ A few slow, firm strokes, and then a few quicker ones, and then ones that squeeze the tip in rapid succession. Billy's hand twists in Sean's hair, pulling, and he squeaks out a low mewl as the tension lashes free all at once, soaking his muscles in liquid relief.

And he thinks. Sean had cried his name, because Sean always cries the right name, always knows who he's with. Appreciates and loves, because it's what he's good at. _I am with you._ And they know it. Even if his speeches suck.

They separate and collapse, side by side. Letting the controlled temperature of the room cool and dry their skin.

Billy takes just a single glance, looking long enough to notice Sean's eyes are closed. He slithers an arm over Sean's soft belly, and they shift into each other just a fraction.

"What are you going to do tomorrow?"

Billy doesn't even know what he's asking, really. 

"Not sure," Sean replies, trailing fingers along Billy's arm. "Ask me tomorrow."


End file.
